


The Oldest Living Bachelor in Oakdale

by misslucyjane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, M/M, Unconventional Courtship Generator, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyjane/pseuds/misslucyjane
Summary: Sweet, shy Steve Rogers had had it! He now held the dubious title of oldest unmarried man in Oakdale — and a virgin, to boot. It was high time he shed his scholarly shell and unleashed the temptor within. Problem was, he didn't know the first thing about dating...Heartbreaker Bucky Barnes had been away for twelve years, and boy, had things changed! The innocent boy who once had tutored him in math now was a man in need of his help… to snare a date! He'd always admired Steve, but his stunning transformation was too much for any man to resist — even a sworn bachelor like him...Prompted byThe Oldest Virgin In Oakdaleby Wendy Warren.





	1. Welcome (Back) to Oakdale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Unconventional Courtship challenge 2017

For Bruce and Betty's engagement party, Tony went all-out. He closed the Playground for a private function, invited everyone that Bruce and Betty knew, and ordered enough food and champagne and cake to feed more people than the fire marshal allowed in the club. There were noisemakers to shake and party horns to blow, heart-shaped confetti to toss, and a five-foot tall cake with sparklers and a marzipan "Congratulations Bruce & Betty!" circling the top tier.

Bruce applauded along with everyone else when the cake was rolled out onto the dance floor, and leaned close to say to Steve, "If a girl jumps out I may have to throttle Tony."

"Don't worry," Steve replied. "I talked him out of it."

After cake was eaten and toasts were made -- Tony made the longest one but also the sweetest -- there was dancing. Happy couples swayed together on the dance floor to Bruce and Betty's favorite songs. Alone at the bar, Steve watched his friends and was filled with quiet longing that was all too familiar.

It was hard to be single in a group full of couples. It was even harder to be single in a tight-knit community like Oakdale, where everybody had known Peggy, and everybody knew that Steve was in no hurry to replace her.

She would have been a bride of four months herself tonight, and Steve could imagine the advice and jokes she would offer Betty on the care and feeding of absent-minded professors. He remembered how she could knock back a scotch with barely a grimace, how she would dance with Steve to the slow songs, her hand light on the back of his neck ...

Tony and Pepper left the dance floor and Pepper perched on the stool beside Steve. "Dirty martini?" Tony asked her.

"Dirty martini," she said in confirmation. "Thank you, honey."

"Can I get you anything, Steve?" He made a quick drinking gesture.

In reply Steve held up his half-full bottle, and Tony nodded and headed for the bartender.

Pepper took off her shoes and wiggled her toes. "Those were _not_ made for dancing," she said into Steve's ear, her arm light across his shoulders. "How are you holding up, sweetheart?"

"I'm happy for Bruce and Betty," Steve replied and had a pull on his beer. "How are you?"

"Missing Peggy like hell," Pepper said. "She would have been thrilled about this. She loved Bruce so much."

"We all do," Steve said quietly, watching Betty and Bruce dance close and slow in each other's arms. "It's thrilling for all of us."

Pepper was quiet for a moment, then said, "I have this friend -- she's a nurse --"

"No," Steve said automatically. "Thanks, but no."

"Are you sure? It's been a year, Steve."

"Exactly," Steve said as Tony came back with their drinks. "It's only been a year."

"What's only been a year?" Tony said, and when Pepper gave him a _look_ he said, "Oh," and hugged Steve around the shoulders. "Sorry, man. Forgot."

"I'm okay, Tony. But thanks."

Tony nodded and leaned against the bar beside Pepper. She stroked his hair absently, and they all drank and watched the dancers.

Tony said, leaning around Pepper so Steve could hear him easily, "But you realize, Steve, Bruce tying the knot makes you the oldest living bachelor in all of Oakdale."

"I'm only twenty-nine," Steve pointed out.

"Exactly. You're twenty-nine, soon to be thirty, and I don't know anyone else in this fine bustling berg over the age of twenty-five who isn't at least in a committed relationship."

"Tony," Pepper said. "Now is probably not the best time to bring it up."

"Now's the perfect time to bring it up. Peggy died a year ago, and she was awesome and one-of-a-kind and wonderful and we all miss her, but eventually, the mourning needs to stop and the living needs to resume."

"I did not put him up to this," Pepper told Steve.

Steve had another pull on his beer, then got off the stool. He kissed Pepper's cheek. "I'll call you later," he said to both of them, and walked away from the bar. Pepper was probably scolding Tony as he left, but the music was too loud for him to hear.

He paused near Sam, his roommate, and gestured that he was leaving. Sam looked disappointed but nodded, his arms around whichever friend of Betty's had captured his attention. Steve passed near Betty and Bruce, too, and Betty reached out for a moment to catch his hand and give it a squeeze. He smiled at her and kissed her cheek too, patted Bruce's shoulder, and continued on his way.

Outside, the spring air was crisp and cool. Steve took a deep breath, and looked back at the club a moment. He could feel the thump of the bass deep in his chest.

Peggy had loved music, had loved to dance. She taught him to dance when they first met so he could do more than just hold her and sway, though these sessions often ended with Steve tangled over his feet and the two of them laughing from where they had collapsed on the floor.

_Must love music_ , Steve thought. _Must get along with my friends._ If he were to compile a list of features for a perfect partner -- which seemed to be what he was doing -- those two items would be near the top. He wasn't sure what would be number one.

The nightclub was on the edge of Oak Grove Square, which everyone just called the Grove and was the closest Oakdale had to a bohemian district. Following the wide streets, a person could find clothing boutiques and comics shops, independent coffee houses, a revival movie theater, and a store that bought and sold actual vinyl records. At this hour only the coffee houses were still open, so Steve went into the first one he came to for a cup to clear his head.

The shop, Cocoon, was full of students typing on computers and groups of two or three having quiet conversations over cups of strong-smelling coffee. A musician sat on the small raised stage, where she strummed a guitar and sang into a microphone. There were unframed watercolors on the walls, and a wood trellis with small hooks where regulars could hang their personal coffee mugs.

Steve got into the short line to place his order. Everyone he knew was at Bruce and Betty's party, and he was grateful for that. Talking about Peggy wasn't as helpful as his friends thought, and after a year, what more could he say? "The only woman I ever loved took a wrong turn on a stormy night and now I'm alone forever"?

It took him a moment to realize the barista was talking to him, and he focused on her. "Sorry?"

She smiled and repeated her question, "What can I make for you tonight?"

"Iced coffee," Steve said. He could nurse a cold drink a lot longer than a hot one, and nursing a drink while he stared out the window and watched the city put itself to sleep felt like the best way to deal with this particular conundrum.

He waited the bar so he could hear them call his name. The only other person sitting there was a man in the last stool, one leg tucked under himself as he scribbled in a notebook. His hair was long enough to hide his face, but even so there was something familiar about the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his neck...

The man happened to glance up as Steve studied him, and smiled absently -- and then his eyes narrowed a moment and he tilted his head. He then did the name sign Steve hadn't used since high school, a manual alphabet S tapped beside the eyes to signify the thick glasses Steve had worn until just a few years ago: "Steve?"

"Bucky," Steve breathed and had to look away. When you ran into the first person you ever kissed after twelve years of no contact whatsoever, what else were you supposed to do?

***

"Look at you," Bucky said for the fourth or fifth time as he and Steve sat at one of the tables near the front of the shop. "I can't believe it."

"Look at _you_ ," Steve answered, smiling. He'd always had a good smile, full-lipped and sweet, and Bucky had done everything he could think of to get him to show it more often back when they were in high school. "When did you get back?"

"Last week," Bucky said, gesturing clumsily. His ASL had gotten little use over the years, not that he'd been able to use it much with Steve, either -- Oakdale's Deaf community had always been small, and Steve's family preferred him to use lip-reading and SEE-signing rather than ASL.

His prosthetic didn't lend itself to signing, either. Steve's eyes flicked to it and then back to Bucky's face, and Bucky said, "Yeah. Wounded in combat and got sent home."

"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly, sincerely, and hadn't that always been what Bucky liked about him? Not a dishonest bone in that skinny, lanky body -- _Not so skinny anymore,_ Bucky thought as his eyes wandered over shoulders that had become broad and a chest that had become deep.

He snapped his gaze back to Steve's eyes to keep from ogling his body before Steve noticed -- but it seemed Steve noticed away, and that brought a slight, wry smile to his face. "I've been working out," he said simply.

"I noticed," Bucky replied. "You look--" He couldn't remember the sign for 'amazing'. He signed, _Beautiful_ , instead, and Steve quietly laughed.

"You don't need to sign, Bucky," he said, though his hands twitched as if the muscle memory was stronger than he thought. "I haven't used Sign for years."

"Why did you stop?"

"I had stapes surgery when I was twenty. It corrected the broken bones that were causing my deafness."

Bucky put his coffee cup down. "It restored your hearing?"

Steve nodded. "Mostly. I still can't hear too well if there's a lot of background noise, but I can carry on conversations and hear my students without much trouble."

"Well," Bucky said, "I'm glad. I'm glad it worked out."

"Thanks."

They both sipped, then Bucky said, "What are you up to now? You went into art, I hope."

"I'm in the math department at Culver," said Steve. "Art just wasn't practical." He tilted his head. "I'm surprised you remember."

"Of course I remember." Bucky sipped his coffee again, watching Steve. "You left an impression."

Steve ducked his head, smiling like he didn't know what else to do, and Bucky was about to ask him if he was dating anyone when Steve said, "Besides the army, what have you been up to?"

"Not much I can talk about," said Bucky. "I was a specialist, so the money was good and I got to see a lot of the world. Then I was wounded, and..." He shrugged, sipping again so he could look at his cup instead of at Steve. "Rehab took a long time."

"I'm really sorry that happened." He looked stricken. "Oh, God, Bucky, your music."

"My -- oh, that." He shrugged a shoulder. "It wasn't like I was going to be a concert pianist."

"Still," Steve said. "It can't be easy. If I couldn't draw anymore I don't know what I'd do with myself."

Bucky coughed, uncomfortable, and shifted his prosthetic arm. "On the plus side, combat pay plus disability pay plus my pension means I can do whatever I want to now. I'm back home to figure that out."

"There are a lot of people who'll be glad to see you."

"You think so? I don't."

"Bucky," Steve said, and he said it the same way he did when they were boys, exasperated and affectionate and ready to leap to Bucky's defense against anyone, including Bucky himself.

God, this was why Bucky had liked the kid so much.

"Anyway," Bucky said. "Enough about me. What's going on with you besides finding your people in the math department?" He glanced at Steve's left hand. His ring finger was bare, but that could mean anything. "Married? Dating? Playing the field?"

Steve's faint smile faded, and he pulled a short silver chain from under his shirt collar. A diamond ring dangled from the chain. "I was engaged," Steve said. "She died a year ago, in a car accident."

Bucky winced. _Way to put your foot in it, Barnes._ "I'm sorry."

Steve tucked the ring back into his shirt. "Thank you."

"What was her name?"

"Peggy Carter. She was -- she was great. Here, I--" He took out a little pocket-sized sketchbook in a leather holder from the inside pocket of his jacket, and he opened it to the front page. "I draw her in every new sketchbook."

He slid the book across the table to where Bucky could see it. It seemed like the Steve he remembered to have a drawing of his girl instead of a photo in his wallet, and the drawing probably captured more personality than any photo could. This Peggy Carter had intelligent eyes and a sweet face, and there was something about the wicked curve of her mouth and the set of her brows that said she was not a woman to be trifled with.

"She was beautiful," Bucky said simply and gave the book back.

"She was amazing," Steve said and looked at the picture a moment before folding the book closed and winding the little straps around it. "The strongest woman I've ever met." He said more quietly, "The only woman I've ever loved."

Bucky watched him, wordless. Steve stroked the book with his thumb.

"Anyway." He smiled at Bucky. "Want to get out of here? I think I want to walk a little and I'd love the company."

Bucky drained his cup quickly. "Let's go."

***

Even on the weekend, Oakdale was sleepy and quiet at this time of night. Few pedestrians and fewer cars were on the streets, and no boats were out on the river. Oakdale was a town that rose early, worked hard, and slept soundly through the night.

Steve glanced at Bucky as they crossed a footbridge over the canal that separated the Grove from the main streets of Oakdale. Twelve years ago he had been a babyfaced teenager, eyes wide and innocent, all long limbs and clever fingers; now he was broad in the shoulders, cheekbones sharp, hair long enough to frame his face in dark waves, and eyes that looked like they'd seen more than they wanted to remember.

It made Steve ache. It made him want to wrap his arms around Bucky and tell him everything would be all right.

"This place hasn't changed much," Bucky said as Steve gazed at him. "It still smells the same -- river water and sawmills. Is O'Flaherty's still around?"

"It is. Pat's still tending bar and there's still karaoke on Saturday nights."

Bucky chuckled. "Thank God. We'll have to go sometime."

"I still can't sing," Steve said.

"Hey, miracles only go so far."

They walked in silence for a while. The little shops gave way to Oakdale Park, the bandstand and playground silent and empty, the street lamps on the path giving the only light.

"Where are you living now?" Steve said. "Because I'm this way." He gestured to the other side of the park. "I usually cut through here."

"Not far," Bucky said. "You remember my sister Becca? I'm living with her and her famiy on Claymont Street."

"Not far at all," Steve said. "I'm on Firehouse Road. I've been living with my friend Sam since Peggy died." He paused, wishing it were autumn so he could hear the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. He loved that sound. He said, "I kind of fell apart for a while after she died. Sam was -- well, all of my friends helped put me back together, but Sam was the one who drove me places and made sure I went grocery shopping and paid my bills. In the end it was easier to just get a place together, so we could keep an eye on each other."

"Right," said Bucky.

"Sorry," Steve said. "Sometimes I don't realize when I'm babbling."

"You're not babbling. You're just talking. I like it." He hesitated like Steve had done, and said, "Whenever I used to run into Deaf people in the States -- and it wasn't too often -- I used to ask if I could speak ASL with them, for the practice. So I get it. Sometimes you want to talk just because you can."

"Why would you want to practice ASL?"

Bucky looked at him. "So I could talk to you more easily when I came home."

"If you'd kept in touch, I could have told you that you didn't need to."

"If I'd kept in touch," Bucky said, "it wouldn't have been a surprise."

They smiled at each other, and Steve said, "I think that's exactly my point. You've always known how to talk to people -- to anyone, even people you don't know. Me, I feel like a slobbering dog sometimes, licking people's faces because I'm so happy I can finally join in on the conversation."

"You're cute enough that no one would mind."

Steve felt his cheeks turn hot, and was glad it was dark enough that Bucky wouldn't see. "Thanks."

"You must have been beating the ladies off with a stick before you met your fiancée."

"No," Steve murmured, "not really. I'm not -- I've never been -- Peggy's the only one who ever really ... saw me."

"Hm." They were passing the swing set-cum-climbing fort, and Bucky nodded to the swings. They left the path to sit on the swings, and though neither of them started swinging, they both gently swayed, their toes in the bark that lined the play area.

"She must have been somethin' else," Bucky said quietly.

"She was. She was ... she just was." He took a deep breath. "But that was your gift, too. Everybody loved you because you treated them like they were important. I never felt ... isolated, when you were around."

Bucky only tipped his head forward in response, hiding his face behind his hair. The swing chains creaked. The wind blew softly through the oaks surrounding the park.

Steve said, "You left without saying goodbye."

Bucky's hair obscured his face so Steve couldn't see his expression. "Yeah. I know."

"Don't make fun of me," Steve said. "I was heartbroken."

"Were you?" Bucky said, lifting his head, his gaze focusing on Steve with an intensity that made Steve shiver. "Were you, really?"

"I was," Steve breathed, "really," and Bucky reached across the space between them, tugged him close, and kissed him.


	2. The Second First Kiss

At seventeen, Steve had tasted like fruit gum and smelled like sandalwood. At twenty-nine he still smelled like sandalwood, spicy and clean; and tasted like coffee, woody, sweet.

He could lose himself in that taste, that scent, Bucky thought, and slid his fingers into Steve's hair as he kissed Steve deeper. Steve's arms went around Bucky's neck. The chains of the swings creaked in protest as they tried to move closer, their legs tangling together.

Steve pulled away with a quiet laugh. "I think we're going to break this thing."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered, his mind entirely on getting his mouth back on Steve's as they stood and tugged each other close again. Steve kissed him first this time, again with that soft laugh and then a hum as if he found Bucky's mouth delicious.

They fit together perfectly.

They'd never gone farther than kissing before. Steve hadn't been ready then -- really, neither had Bucky even though he'd fooled around plenty -- but that was then.

Bucky was about to whisper, "Take me home with you," when Steve pulled away again, breathing heavily, blue eyes enormous. He let go of Bucky's jacket that he'd been clutching, and shoved a hand through his hair as he took a step back with a nervous laugh. "I -- I need a second."

"Steve," Bucky began, and then closed his mouth.

"Walk me home?" Steve said, and Bucky nodded as he shoved his hand through his hair himself and tried to calm his breathing.

They resumed their walk through the park. They didn't take each other's hands or put their arms around each other's waists, and as they approached Firehouse Road Bucky's hope that Steve would ask him to come in grew dimmer and dimmer.

Well, he was practically widowed, right? It was hard to move on from that kind of thing.

They stopped in front of a one-story, Craftsman house on a slight rise from the sidewalk. Purple and yellow tulips bloomed in front of the porch, and pink petals drifted from a cherry tree. None of the lights were on.

"Here's me," Steve said. "Sam must still be at the party."

"Okay," Bucky said, shoving his hand though his hair again.

"Thanks for walking with me."

"Sure," Bucky said. He took a step toward Steve, craving another of those amazing, mind-blowing kisses -- but Steve turned away from him and opened the garden gate.

"Do you remember the way back?"

"I remember. Through the park and to the west."

"Yeah." Steve closed the gate. "Well, good night, Bucky."

"Good night." He took a few steps away, then stopped and said, "Steve!"

Steve turned back to him. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Grading tests."

"Oh," Bucky said. "Do you have time to have breakfast with me?"

Steve smiled and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." He came back to the gate. "Give me your phone. I'll give you my number so you can text me in the morning."

Bucky gave him his phone, and managed not to leap over the fence and tackle Steve for more kisses as Steve carefully typed in his number. The grass on the front lawn looked lush and soft, perfect for rolling around with someone worth watching the stars with.

Steve gave him back the phone with a soft, "Good night, Bucky."

"Good night." He watched Steve climb the front steps and let himself inside, and then sighed deeply and walked home.

Home, for now, was his sister Becca's house, a tidy bungalow she shared with her husband, Jim, and Jamie, their little boy. It was a strange situation at times -- Jim had been Bucky's friend in high school, and Bucky had never thought any of his friends would be interested in his little sister. According to both Jim and Becca, he hadn't been then; it wasn't until she started at Culver University in the same engineering department as Jim that they had really noticed each other. They were married as soon as Becca graduated, and Jamie came long a few years later.

Bucky had asked Becca why she'd named her baby James when so many other men in her life were named James too, and she had answered, "It's the name of my father, my brother, my husband, and his father. Why wouldn't I use it?"

He could hear the soft hum of the television from Becca and Jim's bedroom when he let himself into the house and could see the glimmer from the TV from under the door. He paused, trying to decide off he should let them know he was home, and then the bedroom door opened and Becca peeped out.

"I thought I heard the door. Did you have a good night?"

"Yeah," Bucky said. "I ran into an old friend."

"See? I knew more people would be glad to see you than Jimmy and me." She dimpled at him. "Good night, Bucky."

"Good night, Becca." He climbed up the stairs to the spare room in the attic -- a small space but a cozy one, one that made him feel cocooned in warmth and safety.

He undressed slowly, pulling off his jacket and T-shirt with one hand, and then unbuckled the prosthetic and put it aside. He shrugged his shoulder with relief at the loss of extra weight.

Still wearing his jeans, Bucky took his phone from his jacket and lay on his bed. He scrolled to Steve's number and stared at it, wishing he'd taken a picture of Steve tonight to compare with the rapidly-fading mental one he'd carried with him all this time -- lanky Steve Rogers with his floppy blond hair, black-rimmed glasses, hearing aids, smudges on his fingers from chalk or paint or ink.

He'd left chalk smudges on Bucky's face the first time they kissed.

Bucky tapped the text icon and typed, _I've missed you for the last twelve years._ And then erased it, because it was ridiculous and he'd already freaked Steve out enough for one night, with the kiss and pawing at him and everything. Steve had been engaged, for Crissake. To a woman. A beautiful, intelligent, good woman who had probably deserved him far more than Bucky did.

Instead he typed, _Got home safe. Good night, Steve,_ and sent it, and put the phone aside and then lay his arm over his eyes.

A minute or two later his phone buzzed with a new text. Bucky picked it up and smiled when he saw Steve's reply, _Thanks for telling me. Good night, Bucky._

Bucky held the phone to his chest a moment, overwhelmed with memories both of twelve years ago and of tonight, and then put the phone aside again and got off the bed so he could wash his face and go to bed properly, and tried not to think any more about Steve.

***

"Apparently there's some engagement tradition I never heard of before," Sam said as he poured himself a mug of coffee, "having to do with karaoke and garter belts." He refilled Steve's cup.

"Thank you." Steve had a sip, and set the cup on the table, away from the pile of tests he was grading. "That sounds like an invention of Tony's."

"It probably was. It was lots of fun, though. I don't think I've heard Bruce sing before." He sat at their little round kitchen table and nudged Steve's foot. "What did you get up to last night after you left the party?"

"I went to a coffee shop," Steve said. "Ran into an old friend."

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

"Um," Steve said, "Bucky Barnes."

Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve. "Bucky Barnes? Bucky 'Steve's first kiss' Barnes? Bucky 'the only person Steve is more obsessed with than his girlfriend' Barnes? Bucky 'the reason Steve checks the bisexual box' Barnes?"

"You done?" said Steve.

"For now," Sam said

"Yes, that Bucky Barnes."

"How was it?"

"We talked a lot. Caught up on what's been going on in our lives. He's been overseas, serving in the army as a specialist. Got wounded and was sent home."

Sam clucked his tongue. "That's rough."

"Yeah." Steve hesitated, then said, "We walked home together and stopped at the park, and -- and he kissed me again."

Sam burst out laughing. "That boy still wants you!"

Steve focused on the paper in front of him. "If he leaves without a word again for twelve years, I guess I'll know for sure."

"I bet you ten dollars he sticks around."

"I bet you ten dollars the only reason he kissed me last night was nostalgia," Steve said. He wrote the score at the top of the paper and put it away in the "Graded" folder.

"I bet you ten dollars you're wrong. You don't kiss someone twelve years after the first kiss just out of nostalgia -- you do it because there's still some emotional stuff going on there."

"So much emotion he didn't contact me at all for twelve years, one month, and five days."

Sam whistled. "Down to the day, huh?"

"I could tell you the hour if you want." Steve scanned the page for answers, checking off the incorrect ones. "I tutored him for an hour in math every day after school, sometimes in the tutoring center but more often in one of the art rooms. They were quieter and we could talk more easily. We were working on equations and I had chalk dust on my fingers, and he was standing close to me, and --" Steve stopped, blushing a little at the memory. They had left the lights off because technically they weren't supposed to be out of the tutoring center and they didn't want to draw anyone's attention, and Bucky had been close to him so he could see what Steve was writing, and he had smelled like cigarettes and aftershave, and years later Steve still associated that scent with no one else. "And he kissed me like it was easy."

"Was it easy?" Sam said in a soft tone.

Steve put the test in the graded folder. "Yeah. It was easy." The easiest first kiss he'd ever had, even easier than kissing Peggy.

"That's all kinds of sweet, Steve."

"Sweet or not, I'm not sure how I feel about it all right now. My first kiss ran away to join the army, and now shows up twelve years later and kisses me again like nothing's changed."

"That was a drastic reaction, sure, but better than him -- I don't know, beating you up or something because you made him feel things he wasn't ready to understand."

"It made me feel things I didn't understand, too, Sam."

"But you dealt with it," Sam pointed out. "You stayed here, you lived your life, and you found somebody else to love."

"Yeah," Steve muttered, bending over another test. "I suppose."

"And maybe not much has changed," Sam said, "and he didn't know it until he saw you again, twelve years, one month, and five days later." He got a mischievous look in his eye and said, "Maybe you ought to give him a belated birthday present, since you couldn't give him the one you had for him then."

"I'll get right on making him a cake."

Sam chuckled, then said, "So, Steve, you know how you usually go camping for your birthday?"

"Yes," Steve said. "I'm planning to do it again this year, too."

"You might want to rethink those plans. Tony's got something up his sleeve."

"I know. Pepper's warned me about it, too. I've already told him he's not allowed to throw me a surprise party. Natasha still hasn't forgiven him for that one he threw for Clint, with that exotic animal act." Tony's excuse had been how was he supposed to know Clint was afraid of snakes?

"I don't think the party itself will be a surprise," Sam said, "but what he's planning to do may be ... not your style."

Steve leaned his face on his hands and quietly counted to five. "If he asks you, no exotic dancers, no bubble machines, no acrobats."

"Just pony rides and fireworks, then," Sam said with a nod.

"And no one's to fix me up with a date. If I want one, I'll find one on my own."

"Ask Bucky," Sam said. "It'll give you an excuse to keep kissing him."

"No way," said Steve. "There isn't a huge dating pool in Oakdale, but there has to be somebody who'll -- you know. Be as good for me as Peggy."

"And you don't think that's Bucky?"

Steve said simply, "He broke my heart, Sam."

Sam sipped, a contemplative look in his eyes. "I guess I get that, you not jumping at the chance to let him do that again." He fixed his gaze on Steve. "Still, there was kissing."

"Yeah," Steve said and his red pencil was loose in his fingers for a moment or two as he remembered the quiet of the park, the creaking of the swings, and how Bucky's mouth fit against his just as naturally as it had when they were teenagers. "There was."

With a sigh, he shook his head and refocused on the tests. He wanted to have them finished before Bucky texted, and he suspected Bucky would text before much longer unless he was a late sleeper. After twelve years in the military, maybe he was.

"Pancakes?" Sam said, rising from the kitchen table.

"Not today. Brunch plans."

"Oh, yeah? With Tony and Pepper?"

"No," Steve said. "Um. With Bucky."

Sam put down the flour canister. "Steven Grant Rogers, are you leading him on?"

"No," Steve protested. "It'll be fine. Two old friends having brunch. We'll go to the Clover -- I'm sure he'll be happy to see it's still around."

"You should ask him to come here," replied Sam. "I'll make a double batch of pancakes."

"You just want to scope him from top to bottom."

"Yes, I do," Sam said with an affirmative nod, and started rummaging through the pantry for baking soda.

Steve watched him affectionately for a few moments, and then had a fortifying sip of coffee and went back to grading.

He'd hardly slept all night, thinking about Bucky, remembering, and finally rose before the sun came up, figuring he might as well get the tests out of the way before the day properly began. It was hard to think about linear algebra, though, when the warmth of the coffee cup reminded him of Bucky's lips and the sound of a jogger softly singing as they passed the house on this quiet morning reminded him of Bucky's voice in his ear.

Weird to think he'd never properly heard it before last night -- weirder still to think that he knew it as soon as Bucky spoke, that he had recognized it somehow despite time and deafness.

Steve closed his eyes a moment, comparing the boy Bucky had been to the man he had become -- longer hair, scruffier jaw, harder eyes -- but still a mouth that was quick to smile and lips that were soft and sweet.

That was the trouble with nostalgia. It painted everything with pink and gold, and made you forget the mean reds, the gloomy blues.

_Bucky left,_ he reminded himself ruthlessly. _He kissed you and he left. Focus on the future, not the past._ Peggy had been his future, and now she was gone; there had to be someone out there to at least be his tomorrow, if not his next year.

And that person was not Bucky Barnes. Bucky had never been about long-term. He hadn't even started applying to colleges their senior year -- which, Steve supposed, explained why he chose the army the day he turned eighteen instead of waiting at least until graduation. Why wait when your path didn't lead toward academia? And it sounded like he'd found his place there, if they'd made him a specialist and all.

But it also seemed that in the end, he'd given them more than they'd given him.

"Sam," he said, putting down his pencil, "he lost an arm."

"Who did?" Sam said absently as he threw drops of water onto the hot griddle. They sizzled and hissed, and Steve smiled to himself at the sound.

"Bucky. He lost an arm. He didn't go into detail about it but it sounded like it happened not to long ago. What should I ask him about that?"

"Nothing," Sam said, his customary smile gone from his face. "Don't ask unless he wants to tell. It may still be traumatic for him."

"Okay," Steve said. He wrote a comment on the test and put it in the folder, and said, "He used to play piano. He played beautifully."

"He hasn't lost that," Sam said. "No musician ever really does."

Steve nodded, pondering this, and then picked up his phone as it buzzed its text alert.

_You up?_

Steve typed, _I'm up. I can be ready to meet you in half an hour._

_Ugh, you're still a morning person._

Steve smiled and typed, _Guilty as charged. Meet you at the Clover diner in an hour?_

_The Clover's still around? Cool. Meet you there._

_See you,_ Steve typed, and smiled as he put the phone away.

***

Back in high school, Bucky had spent many Saturday mornings -- and a few Sunday mornings when church held no appeal, and weekday mornings when he was in no hurry to make it to first period -- in the Clover diner, sneaking cigarettes and drinking too much coffee. His friends usually came with him, Dum-Dum eating a mountain of pancakes while Maurice turned up his nose at American omelettes, and Jim and Monty and Gabe would pool their money for a giant breakfast that they would eat off each other's plates.

God, he had missed those assholes. He'd made friends in the Army, of course, but there are no friends like the ones you make when you're young, and he had made some great ones.

The silver exterior of the Clover was still shiny and bright, and when Bucky pushed open the door he was greeted with the familiar, pungent scent of coffee and deep-fried potatoes. Steve sat on the little bench in the waiting area just inside the door, and he looked up at the sudden bright light Bucky let in. He blinked, and then smiled and stood. Bucky smiled in response and felt his shoulders relax.

"Hey," he said and kissed Steve's cheek.

Steve blinked again, and murmured, "Hey," as the teenage hostess came to greet them.

"Are you ready to be seated?" she chirped, grabbing two laminated menus, and she led them through the diner to a booth near the back.

Bucky slid into one side of the booth as Steve took the other and thanked the hostess in his soft voice. He studied Steve, expecting to find a flaw, something he had missed the night before -- but Steve was still golden and strong, the promise he had had as a teenager fulfilled from his square jaw to his broad shoulders.

_I'm sunk,_ Bucky thought, but as soon as he thought it, he also knew he truly didn't mind.

He said, "This place hasn't changed a bit. Same menus, same chrome, probably the same coffee grounds."

"Same Roscoe cooking in the back," Steve said. "Do you want to go someplace else?"

"No, no. I'm perfectly happy here." He opened his menu and looked down at it, then back up at Steve. Steve was blushing faintly, just the tips of his ears, as if he knew what Bucky was thinking.

What Bucky was thinking would get them thrown out if he acted on it.

"Blueberry pancakes," he said out loud, and oh boy wouldn't Steve look pretty with blueberries dotting his chest?

Bucky cleared his throat.

"I usually get Belgian waffles," Steve replied, blushing deeper, his gaze fixed furiously on the menu.

Bucky closed his. He knew what he wanted, anyway, and until they could get out of the diner pancakes would do. He began, "Steve, last night--"

"I want to talk to you about that," Steve said. He lay the menu on the table and folded his hands together on top of it. "I ... I hardly slept, thinking about it."

"Me, too," Bucky said warmly.

"I need to ask a favor from you. A huge favor, but there's no one else I trust enough."

Bucky tilted his head. "What sort of favor?"

"I turn thirty in July." He fell silent as their waiter came to them, and they spent a few moments ordering coffee and pancakes and bacon. When the boy had left, Steve said, "My friend Tony is going to throw me a party. I've been warned by a fre people already, including Tony's wife, that Tony intends for it to rival Oakdale's annual Fourth of July celebration. I need a date for it."

Bucky could have laughed out loud. A favor? It would be a privilege. "Steve--"

"Help me find one?" Steve said in a rush.

Bucky felt like he had been dashed with a bucket of cold water. He was spared from answering right away by the return of their waiter with coffee and cups. He dumped in cream and sugar and stirred his coffee, and waited until they were alone again to say, "Sure. Okay," and drank a gulp, letting the coffee burn his throat.

"I know it's not exactly... normal," Steve said as he prepared his own coffee. "I should know how to do this by now, right? But I never really learned how to talk to people. I knew Peggy for two years before we went out the first time. But I can't be single for this party, Bucky. It would just be too pathetic."

"If your friends are telling you you're pathetic--"

"They're not," Steve said. "They don't. But every time we get together I just--" He shook his head and looked away. "They're all paired off, my friends. And when I'm with them I miss Peggy so much--" He touched his chest, and then twisted his hands together like he was wringing a cloth. "It hurts my heart."

Bucky said quietly, "You think a date will help with that?"

Steve smiled at him, lopsided, so sweet Bucky felt a twist in his chest himself. "Couldn't hurt, right?"

"Guess so." He toyed with his coffee cup. "Isn't there anybody at the university you could ask?"

"They're my colleagues. It would be too strange. There have to be other ways to meet single people."

"Men or women?" Bucky said, and Steve blushed. "Because that makes a difference in how you meet -- how you talk to them, too."

Steve toyed with a sugar packet. "Either." He glanced up quickly, and then focused on the sugar packet again. "I don't -- I think it's the person that gets me interested. Not really the body parts."

"You have to make it more difficult," Bucky said, and was impressed at how easily the teasing tone came out.

Steve smiled again. "Sorry."

"Have you tried picking anybody up lately?"

"No. Not at all."

"Well, that doesn't come naturally," Bucky said. "To be honest, it all starts with the smile." He added, because he couldn't stop himself, "You've got a great one. That won't stand in your way."

"Thank you, Bucky," Steve murmured, blushing even pinker, and sipped some coffee.

"You should try it right now."

"On you?" His mouth quirked.

"I mean on the waiter."

"I don't think I should pick up the waiter. He's working."

"I don't mean picking up him up," Bucky said. "Just smile and see how he reacts."

"Okay," Steve said doubtfully. "Is that what you do? Smile and see what happens?"

"A lot of times, yeah. If you smile at someone and they smile back, at least they've noticed you."

"What about the times you don't smile? What happens then?"

Bucky shrugged. "Then you know there's not going to be a whole lot of talk."

Steve looked confused, then muttered, "Oh," and become very interested in the pie menu propped against the napkin dispenser.

"Steve," Bucky said, and when Steve didn't look up he reached across the table and touched his shoulder. "Steve. I was a soldier, not a monk."

"I'm not judging," Steve said. "I just -- I don't know. I don't think about sex as something casual."

"You don't have to, you know," Bucky said. "Just because I do."

"No, I know. But I suppose I should start, shouldn't I? If I'm going to be dating, most people will expect -- _that_."

" _That,_ " Bucky said, smiling. "Only if you want to. It's the same thing as when we were kids -- if you don't want to, like, _really_ don't want to, you don't have to, and no one should force you."

Steve didn't answer, and the waiter chose that moment to come to their table with a tray full of their breakfasts. Bucky nudged Steve's foot under the table, and Steve pasted on a smile -- an unnerving, unnatural smile, like that of someone having their picture taken with only the most begrudging permission.

"Buttermilk pancakes with bacon," the waiter said, putting a plate in front of Bucky, "and Belgian waffles with blueberry topping," as he placed the plate in front of Steve.

"Thank you," Bucky said as Steve continued smiling.

"You're welcome," the waiter said and his eyebrows furrowed a moment as he looked at Steve. "Do you need anything more, sir?"

Steve continued smiling. Bucky kicked him, and Steve said, "Ow! I mean, no. I'm fine. Thank you."

"Okay, good," the waiter said, still looking at him oddly, and left them with an, "Enjoy your breakfast," as quickly as he could.

"Oh, my God," Steve said, burying his face in his hands, while Bucky burst out laughing.

"Oh, pal," Bucky said. "You need all the help you can get."

"I know. I know. Oh, my God."

"Eat your breakfast," Bucky said gently, and shook his head as he ate his first slice of bacon. He said, "You know, you could just take me to the party. I clean up nice."

"I know you do," Steve said quietly. He drew his fork through the whipped cream. "The thing is... the thing is, I don't think we should date."

Bucky looked up at him. The bacon crumbled in his fingers. "Oh?" he said in the most casual tone he could manage.

"The last time you kissed me," Steve said quietly, "you left without saying goodbye. I made a cake for your birthday, I brought it to school, and then I found out from Becca that you'd dropped out of school and joined the army that morning. You didn't tell me you were leaving. You just _left_."

Bucky swallowed. "What kind of cake?"

"Yellow with chocolate frosting."

Bucky groaned. "My favorite!"

"Well, I've got your number, pal." They smiled at each other, then Steve looked away again.

Bucky said, "But you're okay with using me for my body."

"I'm okay with using you for your _knowledge_ ," Steve said. "You always had anybody you wanted hanging all over you, me included. If anybody can help me find a girlfriend or a boyfriend, it's you."

"That was a long time ago, Stevie."

"From what you've said, though, it sounds to me like that hasn't changed."

Bucky twitched his shoulder. It had changed, at least since he lost his arm, but he was the first to admit this was probably because he'd simply stopped trying. Steve was the first person he'd kissed in six months.

"Let me ask you something," he said. "Are you looking for someone to replace Peggy, or just a date for the party?"

"Either. Both. I don't know. No one could replace Peggy, not really, but someone who made me not miss her so much would be ... perfect, really."

"But someone who'd keep you company at the party would be fine, too."

"Yeah."

Bucky chuckled wryly to himself and signed, _Hopeless._

"You have been practicing," Steve replied.

"It's like I said. I missed you."

Steve huffed. "Did you? Not one letter. Not one phone call. Not even a follow on Twitter."

"I'm not on Twitter."

"I don't believe you missed me," Steve said, "not until you saw me last night and thought we could just pick up where we left off." He stood and leaned over the table. "You. Broke. My. Heart."

He tossed a twenty onto the table, and stalked out of the diner.

The waiter watched him go, then came to their booth. "Is everything all right?"

"Sure," Bucky said. "Can I have this to go?"


	3. Walking and Talking

Steve didn't slow down until the Clover was far behind him, his hands stuffed in his back pockets and his head down. Stupid to think Bucky would take him seriously, stupid to think that Bucky had changed at all in the last twelve years, stupid to think Bucky wanted anything more from him than what other people wanted, with their eager, unwelcome hands.

Sometimes, Steve wished he were still the little, skinny kid he'd been until he'd shot up four inches in his junior year, which made him one of the tallest boys in his class and far more noticeable than he'd been as one of the smallest. Then he'd spent years building up his body, determined that if people were going to look at him, it would be for another reason than pity.

He'd never considered the side effect of people doing more than looking -- that they would take his body as an invitation to touch.

The day was bright and sunny, and the skin on the back of his neck was beginning to feel warm when Steve realized where he was. The Oakdale City Cemetery was in a residential neighborhood, set apart from the houses and a few mom-and-pop businesses by a wrought iron fence that was lined on the inside with oak trees, so you couldn't see the actual headstones from the street unless you stood in front of one of the gates.

Steve picked up his pace. It would be cool and quiet in the cemetery, and give him a place to think.

Peggy was buried in the northeast corner, in a plot that also contained the graves of her Carter grandparents and empty plots for her mother and father. Other Carters were buried in the cemetery as well, scattered here and there in graves dating to the 1800s.

The staff seemed to know how peaceful the residents of Oakdale found the cemetery, as wrought iron park benches were placed strategically along the paths, usually under the oldest and thickest of the oak trees. Steve ignored these, though, and cut across the lawn to Peggy's grave.

He was not going to be alone, he saw at once -- a blonde woman had spread a blanket on the grass beside Peggy's grave and sat with her knees pulled up, her purse on the blanket beside her. Sharon, Peggy's sister.

She looked up when Steve approached. "Steve. Hi."

"Sharon," he replied. "Hi. I can come back later."

"Oh, no, stay. There's room." She moved over and Steve joined her, sitting crossed-legged at the edge of the blanket.

They sat in silence as wind blew through the oak trees, cool and fresh with early spring. It had been awkward at Peggy's funeral -- she had been driving from her place to Steve's when the accident happened, and while Peggy's family never said it out loud, Steve was certain they blamed him for her being out that night, even though she had driven that route a hundred times. Perhaps that was the trouble -- familiarity made her careless, made her take a corner too fast, slide on wet, oily asphalt, and ram her car into a utility pole.

Steve couldn't be angry with them for thinking it was his fault. He did, every day.

Sharon said, "I come here every now and again, just to catch up. We used to talk every day. It's hard to get out of the habit."

"Yeah," Steve said, leaning back on his hands. "Me, too."

Sharon paused, then said, "I haven't seen much of you lately."

"I haven't felt like socializing."

"That's too bad." Her toes tapped a time or two. "It's supposed to help with grief."

"Socializing?"

"Being around people who loved her, too."

Steve looked at her, expecting something sardonic in her expression -- but if there was, he couldn't tell.

He said, "It feels like an imposition."

"We worry about you." She tapped her feet again. "I worry about you."

"I'm fine," Steve said. "I even went to an engagement party last night."

"Oh? Who's engaged?"

"Bruce Banner and Betty Ross."

"Oh, that's nice," Sharon said. "Peggy would have loved that. She mentioned them a lot."

"Yeah."

The wind blew through the trees some more, and Steve closed his eyes, enjoying the sound. Nuances like this used to be lost on him, and sometimes still were; but when a day was quiet like this, he felt like he could hear the merest whispers of the world around him.

It made the sudden growling of his stomach seem that much louder, and he muttered, "Sorry," embarrassed, as Sharon quietly laughed.

"Dif you miss breakfast?"

"I had first breakfast. Second breakfast got interrupted."

"Second breakfast," she murmured, shaking her head, and for a moment her face was hidden behind her hair. "What happened?"

"I was going to have brunch with an old friend, and then lost my temper at him."

"Is he really a friend?" Sharon said.

"He's... he was. I thought he was."

"But you're not sure."

"I'm not." The last thing, he realized, that he wanted to discuss with Peggy's sister was the _other_ love of his life, even though it had happened years before he met Peggy.

It had taken him that long to trust someone with his heart again, and it had taken someone as patient and stubborn as Peggy to do it. She had brought him out of his isolation, showed him he could have a life that was more than formulas and equations, convinced him they might be something phenomenal together. And they had been amazing.

But Bucky ... Bucky was still his first kiss. It may not mean anything to Bucky, but it still meant a lot to Steve.

He said, "A lot of time has passed. We were really close as kids, then he joined the military and left without even saying goodbye. Last night was the first time I'd seen him for twelve years, and he's acting like no time has passed at all while I don't know who he is anymore."

"But he knows you," Sharon said. "And I bet, deep down, you still know him too. People don't change much over time, fundamentally. They just ... Become more themselves, I think." She paused again, then said, "I broke up with Jimmy."

"Oh," Steve said, though Peggy had predicted this almost as soon as Sharon and Jimmy Woo started dating. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Peggy was right, though. He wasn't the man for me. I think that stands to my point -- Peggy could see it, long before I did, that he wasn't capable of making me happy and I certainly wasn't capable of doing that for him."

Steve gazed at Peggy's headstone. _Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend,_ it read. Peggy's mother had asked him if he wanted to be referenced on the stone and he'd said no. He couldn't call her his wife and any other name -- girlfriend, partner, even fiancée -- felt too small for everything that Peggy was.

"But with your friend, you just met him again last night and then made plans for this morning, right?" Sharon was saying. "It sounds to me like you want to give him another chance."

“I do,” Steve said, and blinked at himself.

"Well, then," said Sharon. "There's your answer."

There it was. Despite time and loss and anger, there was still a desire to forgive -- to have Bucky back, if not to pick up where they had left off, then to create something new.

“I should go," Steve said. Maybe it was time to find Bucky and start figuring things out. "Thanks for keeping me company." He got to his feet and brushed grass from his jeans.

"Hey, Steve," Sharon said, twisting to look up at him. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Okay,"Steve said, smiling like he meant it, and left the cemetery.

***

When Steve reached the house, someone was sitting on the front porch steps -- Bucky, with two takeout boxes beside him.

Steve stopped at the front gate. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be hungry."

"I am," Steve admitted as he climbed the path. He sat beside Bucky, the takeout boxes between them. "Thanks."

Bucky handed Steve the top box. He could smell blueberry syrup and bacon through the cardboard. He opened the box and took out the waffle to eat it with his fingers, and as he took his first bite, Bucky said, "I can't change what happened before. I can't even excuse it. I was a scared, stupid kid and I did what stupid kids do -- something impulsive."

"Scared?" Steve said. "Scared of what?"

"I didn't want to be gay," Bucky said quietly. "I didn't want... what I wanted. Which was you."

Steve put the waffle back in the box. "So you ran away."

"Yeah." He took another deep breath. "I'm not asking you to take me back or give me another chance. I know too much time has passed for that. But you deserve to be happy and I want to help, if I can."

"Huh," said Steve.

"Never make a big decision on an empty stomach," Bucky replied and opened his own takeout box.

Steve picked up his waffle again. It _was_ a big decision, he supposed, whether to let Bucky back into his life or cut him out. He said, once he'd chewed and swallowed a few bites, "Do you think we can be friends again?"

"I think it's worth trying." Bucky paused to wipe bacon grease from his fingers. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "I have missed you, Steve."

"I've missed you too. A lot." He chewed and swallowed. "Thanks, by the way. For thinking I deserve to be happy. That's a nice thing to say."

"Well, it's true. Provided you haven't become a giant asshole in the last twelve years, which I assume you haven't."

"I hope I haven't." They smiled at each other.

They ate in silence for a while, as the neighborhood woke up around them. A few couples came out to work in their yards, pulling weeds that had sprung up around the tulips or trimming the edges along their walks, or kids played, their games spilling over from one yard to the next.

"Nice place," Bucky observed.

"Yeah. I like it." He looked at the door behind them. "Did you ring the bell? If Sam's home he would have let you in."

"I did, and there wasn't an answer."

"He must be running errands, then. Do you want to come in?"

"It's nice out. I don't mind staying here."

Steve nodded and finished his waffle. He said, "Sam's a counselor at Oakdale General. I asked him if I should ask about your arm and he said no, but it feels a little like an elephant in the room. Can I ask?"

Bucky paused before he said, "IED in the road. The Jeep flipped. Three of us lost limbs. One of us died."

"I'm sorry. Were they friends of yours?"

"Yeah," Bucky said and slurped coffee from a cardboard cup.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. I don't mind talking about it -- there's just not a lot to say."

"I can't pretend I understand what you went through."

"I like that better than pretending that you do."

Steve huffed. "Bucky Barnes -- James Buchanan Barnes -- home from the war. Never thought I'd see the day. You remember Principal Fury?"

"Oh, boy, do I."

"He's mayor now. I bet he'd give you a ticker-tape parade when he finds out you're back."

"I don't think so," Bucky said, laughing. "More like he'll try to make me serve all those detentions I still had pending when I dropped out."

"Half the town would turn out to protest treating a war hero like that."

Bucky sobered. "I'm no hero, Steve."

Steve looked at his shoes, feeling chastened, then said, "You are to me." Before Bucky could answer, Steve got to his feet and held out his hand for Bucky's empty takeout box. "Come on in. You might need to wash your hands."

"Hand," Bucky said, and instead of giving him the box he took Steve's offered hand and used it to haul himself up.

There was a moment, the briefest of moments, when they were pressed together, hands clasped, gazes boring into each other's -- and then Bucky stepped back and gave a shaky laugh.

"Which way to your sink? I've got syrup on my fingers."

Steve unlocked the front door, scooped up the boxes, and directed Bucky to the bathroom. While Bucky was in the other room, Steve dumped their trash into the bin and then went to the kitchen sink. He leaned on the counter for a moment, his arms trembling, and then he splashed cold water onto his face and drank a mouthful from his cupped hands.

It wasn't often he felt desire, but he knew it when he did -- and it was slamming into him now, making his heart do flips and his skin shiver. His body knew what it wanted, and Steve thought wildly that the kitchen table was probably sturdy enough to bear both their weights --

Water stopped running in the bathroom, and Bucky came out, absently wiping his hand on his jeans. "I've been trying to think of the best way to do this, if you want to do it," he said, and it took Steve a moment to tear his thoughts away from getting his hands on Bucky's body and breathing in the scent of his skin.

He cleared his throat. "Oh?"

"You're going to have to be social," Bucky warned him. "But we can start slow. Flirting at the grocery store, going out for coffee. That sort of thing."

"Slow," Steve said. "Sure."

"If you still want to." Bucky came closer. "Steve? You okay?" He tipped his head. "You're still not mad at me, are you?"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm..." He put his hands on Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky glanced down at one, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Having thoughts."

Bucky's voice was low. "What sort of thoughts?"

"Thoughts I don't know what to do with."

"As long as it doesn't hurt anyone, do whatever feels right."

"I hope this doesn't hurt," Steve whispered, and leaned forward to kiss him.


End file.
